In the Dark, of the Light
by hellomynameislucifer
Summary: This takes place after the events of Kuroshitsuji II. Claude and Alois are back, but how? Read to find out (sorry for the suckish summary)! Rated T for future violence. Rating may change. Characters: Claude, Alois, Sebastian, Ciel, the Reapers I DO NOT OWN KUROSHITSUJI OR ITS CHARACTERS
1. Chapter 1

**_CHAPTER ONE_**

Hell. Contrary to popular belief, the place is actually pretty cold. Depending on the preference of the demon that lived there, the landscape could range anywhere from ice-capped mountains to warm fields of grain in the middle of summer. It really all depended on the demon as to how much or little of that eternal cold there was in the ideal setting, but it was always there. Always it waited and dwelled at the heart of that strange place. It had many names- the Underworld, the Fields of Punishment, etc.- but it is most commonly referred to as Hell.

This demon knew the feeling of the place very well. Or, at least he thought he did. Now, he is not so sure. Of course, he knows the place he just somehow escaped was indeed Hell, but it was a version he had never imagined before. It was blackness and the bitter cold of frostbite. It was uncertainty and being unable to speak. It was not knowing if you even had a form anymore and it was being vulnerable. None of these things bode well with a demon; as such, this demon hated it _and_ loved it. _That_ Hell had been an interesting reprieve from the other world. Earth, it had been called.  
Strange that even with his eyes closed, this place reminds the demon of Earth. Perhaps, under the circumstances, he can assume that this place reminds him of Earth because it _is_ Earth. Then again, he could be wrong. The demon shakes his head (feeling slight reassurance in the fact that he actually has one) and pushes aside these speculations in favor of discovering (or re-discovering) his own identity.

Upon opening his eyes, the demon finds that the lack of the despairing cold of Hell is not merely a granted wish, but a reality. The sky is a pastel blue dotted with the fluffy white cotton puffs known as clouds. He has ended up in a wide expanse of lush, green grass (which appears to go on indefinitely in all directions) sometime during spring.

Sprouting between the blades of grass are dandelions, clover, and flowers. The demon shifts and feels the rough bark of a maple tree pressing up against his back. A leaf spirals down and lands on the ground in front of his face, causing his eyes to travel to the branches above him. He finds himself to be a bit off-put at the slightly blurry aspect of his vision. Some long-forgotten reflex causes him to reach into a breast pocket to get something, only to find bare skin in its stead.

The demon looks down at his hand and notes the black nails and pale skin. The feeling of this body brings back a flood of familiar, if vague, memories. One such memory prompts him to look at his left hand. The sight of the upside-down, orange pentacle with a burgundy center automatically causes a string of strange emotions to flood his senses. This symbol means the demon is in a contract, but there is no way this is possible. Unless...

Frustrated, he sits up and leans his back against the rough bark of the tree, then focuses on remembering anything from his past. The only knowledge that reveals itself are the rules and aesthetics that had been a constant all throughout his existence. The contract must not be broken. After the task if completed, the soul may be devoured.

And so he sits, trying to remember (and feeling utterly pathetic). At some point, a tiny spider propels itself down with a thing, silver thread and lands on the demon's pale shoulder. The creature calms his frustrated mimd just enough for him to finally decide to lay back down and get some sleep, if only for the luxury of it. Despite his typically calm and indifferent outward appearance, the demon knows he has always and constantly felt conflicting feelings of anger, annoyance, and sadistic (and most probably masochistic) pleasure. Yet, for some reason, the only two things he feels now are vulnerability and hope; a hope to remember.

* * *

Over the course of about two centuries, Alois Trancy has had much to think about. First, he will keep the name Alois because he has grown attached to it (and it is one of the few things that has kept him sane). Second and ever present is this place. He does not know where he is or what this is, but he despises it. It has a coldness that chills him to the bone and a darkness so deep that can not be differentiated between having the eyelids closed or simply being a void with a lack of colour.

Sometimes, Alois can even swear he senses another presence alongside his own. There are other beings, as well, but this one sticks out the most. Strangely enough, they inspire no fear in the blond. Rather, they provide an odd sort of comfort. Alas, this comfort is but a small one. He cannot call out to them or even touch them. Oh, how he craves the confirmation of another's being. How he wishes to hold or be held.

But, such is not a freedom of _this _place. The worst part of it all is how wrong it feels. Alois _knows_ he is not meant to be here. Had Claude or Hannah done something? In that final moment before such a final, sweet death could be granted, had someone reached out, grabbed his souls, and dragged him down somewhere dark, and deep, and empty? The only thing Alois is truly certain of is that his soul had been devoured, but now it is inexplicably free. Somehow, he had escaped the inevitable.

But, wait. There had been something. Alois had almost forgotten... Hannah Anafeloz; the demon that devoured his soul. That had not actually been too terrible. He was with Luca again, and he was loved. Then, Hannah had been swallowed up by the rocks and the churning waved of the ocean. As those waves guided her body away from Claude's lifeless form, the sword she had sheathed for countless years impaled her straight through the heart. The funniest part was not the irony, but the fact that Hannah had expected and even hoped for it.

Ah, the details. Perhaps this is the place demons go, when they die. An even deeper Hell. Now, _that_ is sort of ironic. A Hell within Hell for the permanently dead. Although, is anything actually truly permanent? After however many years in this pit of despair, he still does not know. How cruel life is; would it be more appropriate to say how cruel death is? A mere human is trapped in a demon's Hell. Does that mean is is not really a human anymore, but a demon?

It would make sense, he muses. After Hannah devoured him, he had become a part of her, in a sense. What a tangled web we weave... Is that a famous quote? The blond does not remember. Even if it is, the memory is such a distant one that it hardly matters, anymore.

Where is Hannah? Where are the triplets, and Luca, and Claude? Where have sound, and touch, and taste gone? Alois used to wonder why, if this was a demon's Hell, there was such a lack of torture. For a human, the mind is a constant reminder of past grievances, and is therefore a perfect tool for causing insanity. But, what of a demon? Do they feel, or are they void of a conscience? The answer is right in front of him; demons are not so unfeeling as they pretend. They simply express everything differently.

If only he had known all of this, before. Maybe none of this utter nonsense never would have happened. Then what? Then, he might have gotten married, had a family, and died peacefully. Or, he might have still grown up to be a complete jackass and be murdered by some vengeful rival. And yet... Alois still finds himself wishing for Claude. For some strange reason, Alois _misses_ that sorry excuse for a butler. On this thought, for the first time since he arrived in this miserable place, Alois Trancy fades into a dreamless world not even perforated by his on awareness.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I decided to make a Kuroshitsuji fanfic! It's set after the events of Kuroshitsuji II (most likely somewhere in the 1940s). Anyways, I was wondering how I got the characters across. Seem alright? Also, please let me know if you have any requests for characters (it even character pairings, haha!) or settings/events. All comments/feedback is appreciated! Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

It has been a few hours since he first lay back down and tried to sort his thoughts out. He is sitting up again and still does not have even one clear memory. Claude sighs in annoyance and again goes over the fragments of memories he has pulled out of the dark area of hidden thoughts.

There are two names; Jim Macken and Ciel Phantomhive. Claude is not sure who either of them are or even if they are connected in any way. He also remembers gold cutlery and wearing a suit. Some recent even had resulted in his his death, though he does not remember how he died or where he was. And, there was that other demon. Oh, yes, there was _definitely_ another demon. He gets the impression that they were rivals. But, how? Why? Just as he is about to sight again, a memory finally surfaces and explodes in his mind.

* * *

_"Young master, I'd like to have a word with Claude, if you wouldn't mind."_

_"Why not, Claude?"_

_I turned my gaze from the demon to the blond boy wearing a purple costume. He leaned in, an expression of annoyance quickly overtaking his features and whispered to me._

_"Ten minutes. Settle this in ten minutes. If you can't, you'll be punished."_

_On the outside, I remained calm and maintained a stoic expression. On the inside, I was slightly humored. Like this boy would ever actually do anything to harm me._

_"Yes, Your Highness."_

_The other demon met my golden eyes with his ruby red. We walked out alongside each other, saying nothing until we reached the lake. I noted the silver light cast by the full moon. Once we reached the wooden docks, the other turned and faced me. Oh, how angry he was; I could feel the rage, even with my back turned._

_"You are persistent people, hunting my young master so relentlessly," he said._

_"My master ordered it. 'Steal Ciel Phantomhive from Sebastian Michaelis.'"_

_"He is _my_ young master."_

_I could not help but antagonize the other demon, further. I help up a gloved hand in front of my face and studied it, flexing my fingers._

_"The feel of him... One rarely encounters something so fine."_

_That hatred radiated off of his being, threatening me without words. How I loved the idea of the idea of the violence that would ensue._

_"Just remembering that someone other than myself has touched him makes me sick. With your sticky white spider's threads, you have defiled his..."_

_I barely refrained from snickering at _that_ comment. Did he realize how suggestive that sounded? My thoughts spiraled away from my musings and to that of the Phantomhive boy. I took off my glasses and furrowed my brow._

_"Ciel Phantomhive's... soul."_

_These last words finally sent him over the edge, and I turned around to face his approaching form. I easily dodge the uppercut and punch him from the side. Somehow, he ends up behind me and we both leap into the air to trade blows._

_"That day, you stole him from me. My precious young master's soul..."_

_Proving unable to land even a single hit, we touched down upon the surface of the lake and began circling each other. I answered his words, wondering if I would only anger him even more._

_"But it wasn't complete. Not with just his soul. The body is necessary, too. And then you came here."_

_"Yes, I retrieved his soul from you. And yet, he is still not _my_ young master."_

_I paused for only a second and kicked up a pillar of water while Sebastian spoke. He mirrored the maneuver, and the two waves crashed, forming one even larger column. We both kicked up two more waves, ending in the same result. A third column formed a triangle, which was when we both gave up and again attacked each other head-on._

_"Ciel Phantomhive lost his memories and the pain he lived through."_

_With my words, the water crashed down around us and we fell into the water. I waited a bit before emerging, which is the opposite of what Michaelis did._

_"My young master's soul, which I so carefully cultivated..."_

_From beneath the water I spoke, "Ah, I thought so. What you want is a soul that's had its revenge. However..."_

_I bursted out of the water and came up behind him, taking hold of his throat with my left hand. He gave me a frustrated expression, but otherwise made no move to escape. I leaned in on his right side to whisper the rest o my statement in his ear._

_"I sense an extraordinary will in you. A fierce obsession with that soul."_

_He closes his eyes and gives a small smile. _

_"But of course. You see, I am a demon. And you have a master as well, don't you?"_

_I slid my right arm under his and drummed my fingers along his chest, much like a spider. My hand stopped and caressed the lapel of his suit-jacket, eliciting a shiver that was imperceptible to anyone other than a being with heightened senses, such as a demon. Still, he did not pull away._

_"Cultivate a __should, and then feast upon it. That is our lives. My master is another one of those rare souls worth desiring. But to give a soul that's lost its memories a second revenge... no human is worth the trouble."_

_Sebastian turned his head slightly and gave me a bemused smirk._

_"My young master is unlike any human you've ever seen."_

_Finally, he pulled himself from my lose grasp and used a hand to propel himself into the air and behind me. I turned my head to see his expression as three, cold, silver butter knives were pressed against my throat. My eyebrows drew together and the corners of my mouth turned down as I met his cold glare and felt one of the knives lightly touch my chin._

_"As for this second revenge... I do intend for him to have his vengeance again. But I lack something critical," he pauses and his glare softens. "A target of that revenge. What are your master's orders? You said they were to steal my young master from me, and yet..."_

_I tilted my head back and away from the knives with the pretense of better meeting his eyes. I wondered how he would react to my next words._

_"They are to make you suffer an agony worse than death."_

_Surprisingly, he lowered the knives and gave a small sigh, all with a calm face._

_"In that case..."_

_"A Ciel Phantomhive without his memories of revenge is meaningless. I must steal a perfect Ciel Phantomhive, one who has gained revenge."_

_Knowing the fight was now over, I reached into my breast pocket, took out my glasses, and put them on. Sebastian fully understood the meaning of my words and voiced them aloud._

_"Would you care to make a deal?"_

* * *

With that memory comes all of the others. Contracting with Alois, Sebastian Michaelis, acting as a butler, tasting Ciel's blood. Claude wants to shut them all out and tell them to stop. Every memory comes back at the same time; it feels as if he is receiving a sensory overload. Stop it, stop it, stop it, he thinks. His mind is screaming and yelling, refusing to shut up. The pain is so much it feels as if someone is running a blade through his head.

All of a sudden, it stops. The pain subsides and the demon shudders. Claude Faustus, this is his name, now. Alois Trancy, who is now dead (supposing he had not escaped Hell, as well), had been the one to give him this name. For some unknown reason, Claude Faustus is still the name he bears. What a pity that the Trancy boy had given himself so completely to not one, but two demons. Claude supposes he will never understand the motives of the young boy. That is, if they ever meet again and share stories.

Claude can only imagine how _that_ might turn out. _Oh, how was Hell? Dark and cold. How about you? Pretty much the same. Damn, I felt so helpless and vulnerable; it was disgusting. Haha, I know, right? Well, at least we are finally out of there. Yeah. So, what should we talk about, next?_

Claude snorts at the ridiculous notion. As if _that_ could ever happen in any place but his own mind, and maybe in Alois's. It still would not matter much, in either case. But, what if they _did_ meet again? All kidding aside, what would happen, then? How would Alois react? How would Claude react? Almost anything could happen in such an event. Would he slip? And what if he did? What then? The amber-eyed demon shakes his head and returns his mind to more pressing matters, such as the situation at hand.

As if on cue, hundreds of spiders suddenly begin swarming the area and moving within inches of his form. One by one, the beautiful arachnids begin speaking to him in their own way, describing the world and the clothes and the state of things. There is a war going on, they say. Even women and children are beginning to take part in the effort, which is more than can be said in the past. Claude is amused that it has taken humans this long to view the women as equals.

"What of the dress? What are people wearing?"

The demon wrinkles his nose when he learns of the fedoras; hats are annoying accessories, and highly unnecessary for a demon. Claude decides he will try to avoid wearing one, if it goes unnoticed. If not, then... well, he will just have to make do, much to his dissatisfaction. Claude stops his internal tirade and starts forming an image of some clothes that are appropriate for the time period.

As he pictures it, the thought becomes reality and olors and shapes drape themselves over his up-until-now unclothed body. The threads are a murky, olive green colour that reminds Claude of an army issued uniform. Just as he prefers. The uniform is a reminder of a long-gone life. He closes his eyes and basks in the familiarity for a few seconds before ridding himself of these thoughts. They are not unpleasant, but it is unseemly and foolish for a demon to let their emotions rule. This is why Claude has made himself a master at maintaining a blank expression.

Well, at least _most_ of the time. There was that one time when he had just a minute sample of the Phantomhive boy's soul through his blood. Up until that moment, stealing the boy from Sebastian had only been a game. Claude shivers at the memory, then realizes that he will never see Ciel Phantomhive again; Michaelis ad killed Claude, therefore he had also earned the blue-haired boy's soul. For this, the spider demon cannot help but feel a bit jealous. He wonders if Michaelis is still alive; that would not surprise him, in the least.

The uniform finally finishes forming, and Claude is pleased with the result. He wears an olive drab uniform that flatters his form and is decorated with a few stripes and badges (which he is proud to say he has earned). A brown belt holds up his pants and has a holster clipped to it. Claude does not bother to pull out the gun, seeing as he will not be needing it. The thing is really just for show. The corner of his mouth turns up in what might be considered a small smile as he sees worn, brown boots pulled over his feet. Lastly, the demon reaches a gloved hand into his let breast pocket and whips out a pair of familiar rectangular glasses.

He places them on his face and smoothes back his hair (he smirks as he notes the lack of a disgusting hat). Claude surveys the area again and sees that the earlier haze has lifted and the spiders have gone back to their own devices. The demon turns on his heel and begins heading in the direction opposite that which he had been facing. As the dirt and leaves are compressed beneath his boots with each step, the distinct aura of souls attracts his attention.

The type of souls is difficult to discern from this distance, but Claude assumes they are all human. This assumption is proven incorrect as he nears the city; it seems that two of the souls are reapers, and at least one of the souls is a demon. He is still not close enough to know if he recognizes it or not, but this is not his main concern, as of the present.

The reapers are closer than they should be, and Claude bristles as the auras get even still cannot see them, but he can feel them. It is almost as if... The demon slides out of the way just in time to avoid getting gored by a rotating blade. The thing had been started so suddenly, he barely had any time to react to the noise. Damn Death Gods.

"This isn't him."

Claude spins around and finally catches the shinigami within his field of vision. One of them is familiar, but the other does not ring any bells. The familiar one is adorned with red, much like he had been the one brief time they had met. This time, however, the style of the clothing is different. The red reaper wears a jacket similar to Claude's; in other words, a crimson-coloured uniform jacket. Underneath, the reaper wears an off-white blouse with a bright red necktie. His pants are form-fitting and black, much like the original pair, but these ones have added thing, red, vertical stripes. His boots are no longer heeled, but they _are_ a pointy red that matches his necktie. The shinigmi's hair seems much the same, if not a bit longer, and his signature glasses complete the ensemble.

Claude's eyes transfer to the other reaper; this one is much less vibrant, but has also decided not to follow dress code. The demon ha heard of female Death Gods working in the field, but he has never met one. Then again, Claude has not met more than ten reapers total, so any further inspection of common happenings in _that _edge of the universe would be pointless, on his part. Rather than pursue this topic, Claude does a quick scan of the female and commits her appeearance to memory.

Her hair is curly, brown, and reaches down to her shoulders. She wears rectangular, wire-framed glasses that go almost unnoticed against her slightly-too-dark-to-be-pale skin. She wears black boots (without heels) pulled over navy-blue pants. A lighter blue blouse covers the top half of her form and sports a green necktie with diamond patterns. Her death scythe is nothing special; it is a sickle with a hilt shaped like a swirl of ocean waves tinged with green, and a silver blade protrudes out of one end.

Claude finishes his assessment of the pair in a matter of seconds. He meets the red-head's eyes and watches as a flash of recognition briefly covers his features. Then, his expression changes to one of only vague interest to mask the shock that is surely still there. The reaper raises and eyebrow and tilts his head ever so slightly to the side.

"Ooh, I know _you_. You were the demon that killed your own contractee; Alois Trancy, was it?"

"Yes. And you're the reaper that thought it would be interesting to see how things would turn out by not reaping his soul. Satisfied with the outcome?"

"Oh, very. Especially with the recent turn of events. Rumor has it you're supposed to be dead, by the way."

"What of it?"

The reaper giggles and evades the question, "Mmm, you're interesting. What's your name, then?"

Claude debates whether or not he should give this strange Death God his name. He figures the shinigami could just look it up, anyways, and decides to humor him.

"Claude Faustus. And you?"

"Grell Sutcliff."

Claude flicks his eyes over to Grell's silent companion.

"Lynne."

Claude nods and directs his calculating gaze back to Grell. He wonders how much the shinigami might tell him and how long it would take for him to become bored with the demon. The latter would result in a fight, which is undesirable since he would have to fight off two reapers rather than on. Claude also knows that Grell is not a bad fighter when taking Hannah's defeat into account.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I've already got plans. Try to refrain from causing trouble, or I'll have to do something to silence you. Until next time, then."

Grell gives a little wave and motions for Lynne to follow him. She give one, last, curious glance at the demon before the two reapers run off to reap a soul. Claude suspects that the newer reaper is under training. If this is not the case, then she could actually be a full-fledged reaper and there are about to be a ton of deaths in the near future.

Claude just stands there for a moment, unsure of what he should do. He is not hungry, so searching for a soul will only be a waste of time. Besides, the mark on his hand proves he is already in a contract of some sort. With whom is still a mystery. The demon _could_ start searching for said person, but he does not have a clue where to begin.

His other option is to walk around the city and figure out where he is (not to mention _when_ he is). A walk around would certainly shed some light on the whole war thing, as well as provide him with an idea of the newest inventions and the names of those in power. The spiders see much, but their perception of things is different. It is best for Claude to see the world with his own eyes.

The demon makes the decision to get his bearings and follows the direction the reapers had taken, albeit at a much slower pace. There is no ned to meet up with the eccentric shinigami and his silent assistant so soon after meeting up and exchanging introductions. His eyes scan the sky out of habit and catch sight of a few small dots speeding towards the city.

If it were not for the speed of the shapes, Claude might think they are birds. No, they are approaching rapidly and look very different from birds. The demon continues walking and watching simultaneously. Once the things reach the city, they begin dropping conical shapes. Claude watches in fascination as the cones they drop fall, screaming as they near the ground.

Suddenly, a burst of fire explodes from one of the buildings. More explosions cause glass to fly from windows. People begin screaming and running as far away as possible; some of them do not make it. Claude watches coldly as a woman trips because her heel breaks (such impractical footwear, he thinks to himself). Her eyes widen as one of the bombs whistles through the air and explodes on the ground next to her.

The fire clears quickly, having nothing to fuel it. The demon walks forward slowly when it seems as i the bombing has stopped. He scans the sky and sees the shapes flying away. Claude has the feeling that they will not be returning. As he nears the charred body of the woman, a revving sound catches his attention and draws his gaze to a figure dropping from a building. So much for not meeting up with the reapers again so soon.

"Long time, no see. I hope you're not here to steal away any souls. Especially since we already talked about this not even ten minutes ago."

"No. Why would I bother when I'm not even hungry?"

The reaper winks and shows off his sharp teeth with a grin, "Just making sure.

Grell brings his scythe up, then slashes in a wide arc. Claude is close enough that he is able to view the Cinematic Record, as well. Mary Anne Thompson. Twenty-eight years old. Wife of Henry Robert Thompson. Two kids. Claude sees this and all the rest of her uninteresting life. At the end, Grell cuts it off and collects the record. Once this is done, the reaper takes out a book and stamps it.

"You do this every day?"

"Mhmm. Well, every day I have work. Some of them are dull, but others... They can be _quite_ interesting."

When he says this last part, the reaper gets a gleam in his eye that makes Claude wonder if Grell even has the tiniest bit of sanity left. He supposes the reaper did already have his mental break (he had heard practically every story about the Jack the Ripper fiasco), so maybe he _does_ have some sanity.

"I imagime they may be, but collecting records isn't my forté."

Grell chuckles at this, "Oh, darling, I know."

Claude furrows his brow; did this Death God just call him _darling_? He would expect such from Trancy, but definitely not from the notoriously emotionless shinigami. Maybe the rumors are false. Or, maybe the red-head is just trying to catch him off guard. Whatever the reason, Grell Sutcliff is more relaxed around a demon than he should be.

"Care for some advice?"

Claude raises an eyebrow and says nothing.

"When this craziness has died down, find some place to stay. If you can find one, get an apartment on the lower levels. It'll be easier to get out if the bombing starts up again."

"You're telling me this why?"

"I have my reasons," the reaper flashes that smile, again. "Now, I've got work. Perhaps we'll meet up a third time."

"Indeed we might."

Grell gives another smile and runs off with his death scythe in hand. Claude shakes his head and steps over the corpse. Next objective: finally find out where the hell he is. The demon sighs inwardly, already knowing that something will go wrong. After all, something always does.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait, but here is chapter 2! This story actually requires some research and I write it all before I type it (which makes editing that mich easier). Hope you enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**WARNING: The following chapter contains a scene where self-harm is inflicted and contains unwanted sexual advances, which results in an implied murder. This may be disturbing to some readers.**

* * *

August 9th, 1940. Claude glimpses the date on a newspaper that is currently hiding the face of the manager. The man was fat, pink-skinned, and had a brown hand-bar mustache with graying streaks. He had been wearing a dark brown suit and a light brown fedora. Claude cannot tell if he has changed his appearance, but he does not really care.

The man had given him and apartment on the third floor (out of seven possible floors) for a cheap price. The demon figured he might as well find a place to stay until all of this contract nonsense is sorted out. He decides to walk around a bit (having neglected to do so the previous day, opting instead to find and apartment).

This part of the city is not too bad, but it does border the dingy streets of the homeless and the poor. Claude skirts around this part by taking a longer route. He watches dispassionately as a scruffy man tries to grab a boy and get bitten for his efforts. The boy runs away as the man curses at him, but does not pursue he boy. Humans; what despicable creatures. Well, most of them, anyway.

When Claude walks past the man, he sees the pitiful thing look up at him in his peripheral vision. that lust-filled gaze is sickening; the look is one of hunger and rage. This man is enough to make even a demon blanch. Claude assumes the only reason the man does not act on his sick fantasies is because of the recent bite from the previous attempt. Claude finds himself imagining the scum dying in a pit of his own filth. Good riddance.

The demon turns his attention away from such trifling matter; he has much better things to do. His feet lead him to the wealthier part of the city. Well, _this_ brings back memories. Claude can almost swear that he can smell the familiar scent of one Sebastian Michaelis. No, he chastises himself, do not thing such things. It is just your mind playing tricks on you. At the same, it is not _entirely_ inconceivable that the other demon would be alive. Although, the chances of him being _here_ (wherever here may be) are pretty slim.

Claude realizes that he has stopped in front of a silver gate attached to a dark grey stone wall that surrounds a rather large mansion that is set back quite a ways. He shakes himself of resurfacing memories and continues walking. What a silly notion that Sebastian would live here. Should he check, just to make sure? No, that would be reckless. Besides, it would probably be better _not_ to make his presence known to his ex-rival so soon after his return.

If anything, Sebastian would easily defeat him because he has had more time to perfect his fighting technique. Claude, on the other hand, had neither time nor the ability to keep in shape. For most demons, this is not a problem. Then again, most demons do not come back from that place of nothing. He shudders at the mere memory of it. Indeed, it will definitely be better if he ignores the overwhelming urge to _see _that oh-so-familiar presence.

The demon pushes all thoughts pertaining to his previous life as far away as possible. He notes how beautiful the trees are and how lovely the sounds of the chirping birds are. Even demons can appreciate the simple beauty of the natural world. Anyone who says differently must have never met (or does not understand) any demons. Souls are another one of those natural beauties, although they are far from simple.

A crunching sound draws Claude's gaze to a car driving out of one of the mansion's gates. The windows are up and curtains are drawn, blocking out the passenger's face. Just as well. The demon had no desire to receive dirty looks because he is walking around in a part of the city other than his own. Most wealthy people with disdain to anyone with less money than them. This was one of the many aspects of Alois Trancy that amused Claude; unlike most nobles, he really did not care much about his money. It as simply a luxury that could _never_ atone for all the suffering and horrors of his life.

This fact was also one of the reasons Claude had been drawn to Alois's soul; the dark cloud of suffering and hopelessness had clung to him relentlessly. His fury, however briefly it sometimes flashed, was certainly a sight to behold. The more there was, the sweeter his scent. Then, he had met Ciel Phantomhive; he was exactly the same, except _his_ despair was constant. He did not waver nearly as much as Trancy. The demon shakes his head; why does he even think of such things? They really are nothing more than a waste of thought and energy.

* * *

Pain. He cries out, straining against some unseen force. Something is holding him back, and someone is saying something. The words are an unintelligible mass of sound. Tears stream down his face without consent; the boy tries to make them stop, to no avail. At some point, he stops struggling altogether and lets the shape have their way. He closes his eyes and leans his head back, waiting for something to happen. He falls asleep soon, still waiting.

* * *

He had not meant to do it; sure, Alois was usually called a heartless bastard, but he really is not. The pain was gone when he had awoken, as were the tears. The restraints were also MIA, but there _was_ a nurse. A hospital, then. And the nurse was female. He remembers everything so vividly...

"You... you're not _human_..." she had said.

Alois has given her a confused look.

"What?"

"No one can heal that fast. No one."

Her eyes had been as wide as saucers as she sat on her knees with her hands clasped together. So, he _was_ a demon, Alois remembers thinking. His confusion had changed to understanding and he nodded. Her eyes had widened even more (he had not thought that was possible) and her jaw dropped open.

"Are you... are you an angel?"

How naive. Alois would have laughed at her and told her what a stupid idea _that_ was. But, some instinct had held him back. Instead, he had simply chuckled and gave a minute shake of his head. Then, it was _her_ turn to look confused.

"Not quite," he had said, "nut I _can_ grant your deepest desire or your most wanted wish. It will cost you something, of course, but you won't even miss it."

"Can... can you really do that?"

"Of course. Why would I say such if I couldn't?"

"Oh, right. I suppose that was silly of me."

Alois had smiled at her, internally screaming at himself. What the hell was he doing?!

"So, umm, what is this price?"

"A tiny thing, really. Just your soul."

"She gasped, "M-my _soul_?!"

"Yes. And, like I said, you won't miss it; you won't even feel a thing."

"I won't? Truly?"

And he had caught her. Alois nodded, giving another fake smile of reassurance. She had sighed, closing her eyes and making a decision.

"Yes. Yes, you can have it."

"What do you want, in return?"

"The boy in room 111... he has cancer. He'll die in a few days and," tears sprung in her eyes as she choked back sobs, "Can you cure him?"

Alois had smiled again and knelt down before her. He had rested his hand on her ankle and seared the symbol of a contract onto the skin. It was yellow in color (the typical upside-down pentagram) with a pattern of thorns and roses twining around it. Then, he stood up and walked out, leaving her crying silently on the floor, and made his way through the empty halls to room 111.

The boy was no more than eight years old. He had brown hair and fair skin, much like the girl had. Alois could smell the boy, he realized; they were siblings. A pang of guilt wracked his body as he reached out to touch the boy's forehead with his right hand. A ripple went through the eight-year-old's body and soul, signifying that the cancer was gone and he was cured.

Alois had returned to the girl and felt the contract on his hand itching. She looked up, eyes filled with understanding as Alois knelt down and gently tilted her chin up.

"Thank you," she had whispered.

Her silvery soul slowed out of her mouth and into his, then her body went limp. Her soul had tasted like clementines; innocent and gentle. He had sat there for a few seconds in stunned silence and horror, then sensed a new presence. Even though Alois had never sensed them before, he had a pretty good idea who it was. A reaper. He ran out as fast as he could, not daring to look back for fear of slowing down.

Now, he is leaning against the side of a building in a narrow alleyway. His head rests on the wall and his eyes are closed. Alois had run a fair distance, but is not tired in the least. More than anything, he would like some time to sort out his thoughts. He feels guilty about killing the girl; this much is clear. And his body feels great in the sense of being energized and glowing.

He pushes himself off the wall and stands up straight, trying to ignore the giddy feeling brought on by devouring that soul. Time to think about something else. But what? Well, he feels taller. Alois looks down and wrinkles his nose in distaste at the white hospital gown serving as his only article of clothing. Maybe he could change his clothes with just a thought, like Claude had done the day they formed a contract.

Alois absently puts his fingers over his slightly parted lips. Claude. Did he escape the Nothing? Was he ever even in it? The blond shakes his head and is distracted by the feel of silken locks brushing against the exposed skin of his collar. The hand that is over his mouth moves to feel the silky hair; it now goes down about an inch past his shoulders. How interesting.

The blond trails his hands over his upper arms and is unsurprised to find that he is still thin (although in a healthy way) and has no muscles. The rest of him is much the same, except now he is older and his body has matured. Alois estimates his his form to be frozen at the age of eighteen or nineteen. Again, he reaches up and runs his fingers through his long locks of hair.

Finally, he remembers his original intentions and returns to thoughts of instantly swapping these bedsheets with something of his own creation. He closes his eyes and imagines a simple dress, snickering to himself; if _that_ works, then it will be a simple matter of changing again. The seconds tick by... thirty... sixty... ninety... Alois opens his eyes and looks down to see... the bedsheets. The young man decides that he strongly dislikes hospital gowns. They make him feel exposed. Just like that time.

His body starts to tremble, and suddenly he throws himself against the brick wall, stumbles, and catches himself. His black nails elongate into vicious-looking claws and he starts scratching at the skin on his arms. The scratching turns to clawing, drawing blood and tearing at the gown. He _hates_ it. Oh, how h hates it. Alois drags his claws across his arms, his chest, his legs. Why do these feeling refuse to go _away_? He collapses on the ground and puts his head in his now bloodied hands, letting out a strangled cry.

His wounds should already be healing, so why are they not? Perhaps he is too new. No, this is not why; these are self-inflicted _demon_ wounds. How could he forget? Alois stands on shaking legs and steadies himself against the wall. Gouges or not, he needs to get out of here. This place is too suffocating. He stumbles out, his only thought of getting away.

Alois runs out and down into a street of poverty and homeless people. A hand catches him and he trips, falling flat on the pavement. He struggles around so he is on his back (scraping himself even more, in the process) and looks up into the hungry eyes of a man with a scruffy beard. His eyes flick to the left, then o the right and see a recent wound on the left arm.

"Let me go, or I swear you'll suffer more than a bite."

The man cackles and the eyes glare at him, filled with lust and poorly contained desire. Alois can feel the man's dirty fingers slowly trailing up the naked skin of his left leg. No, now again. He just relived this memory in the alleyway, so why again? More importantly, they are out in the open and there are people around; why do the people do nothing?

When those searching fingers reach that fabric and slowly begin to push it up, the recently bandaged sanity of Alois Trancy snaps for the second time in less than ten minutes; the disgusting man is slipped on his back and Alois has a hand fisted in his hair. He yanks hard and the man yelps as his head hits the pavement. Alois takes his other hand (nails lengthened) and lightly traces his finger's over the man's torso.

"What did I tell you? You should have listened, but no. You'd rather act on your lust and greed. Isn't this what you wanted? What you _desired_?"

The sweetness in his tone is mocking and false. The man whimpers as Alois sinks his claws into the fleshy torso. Blood is welling up from the wounds and dripping onto the pavement, the blond realizes with a thrill.

"Well? Answer me!"

"No!" he gasps, "No, God! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, oh _God_, let me go!"

Alois sneers and rags his nails downward, drawing out a scream that is immensely satisfying.

"God? Oh, trust me. There is no god. If there was..." he sinks his claws deeper before ripping them out and away for emphasis, "you never would have met me. Why? Because I wouldn't be like _this_."

Alois drops the pitiful lump of flesh and blood and tears. The red liquid gushes from the torn flesh and pools around him on the sidewalk; unless he gets help within the next five minutes, the man will not live to see the sun go down. The blond looks at the filthy blood smeared on his hands and legs and spattered across his chest. What a sight he must be for the staring people. The blond is about to leave, then thinks better of it and makes eye contact with every single person in the immediate vicinity.

"None of you are any better than he is. How can you just _watch_? You disgust me almost more than _he_ does," Alois hisses through clenched teeth.

As he straightens up and continues walking in the direction he had previously been running, he wonders if he has fangs. If not for the fluid dripping down his hands, Alois might be tempted to check. His eyes lazily notice how the scenery changes from crumbling buildings to shops to golden gates. The blond watches disinterestedly as a black car passes and vaguely notices the smell of roses. How interesting; times have indeed changed.

Whoever is driving either does not see him or does not care. They continue driving without a pause. Alois snorts; the driver is most likely ignoring him, just like those people had. The world is so disgusting, he thinks. No one gives a second thought to those that are suffering and they care even less if their own actions are the cause of such pain.

The blond looks behind him, smirking when he sees the drops of blood that have splattered against the sidewalk. His own wounds have almost completely healed, so most of the crimson liquid is from that filthy pervert. What if he _did_ die by bleeding to death? That would be a fitting end; slow, agonizing, and painful. How many had he made beg and bleed right there on the sidewalk?

Alois shudders, again remembering the face of the old man. He remembers the bruises and the blinding pain, the man's rotting breath, and the wrinkled hands grabbing at his skin. The old man is dead, now. He can no longer hurt anyone. By now, the manor and its riches are presumably gone.

Another scent reaches Alois, pulling him out of his despair. The scent is one of lavender; it is strangely intoxicating. Something about it draw Alois towards it, beckoning him to come closer. What a wonderful smell. He takes a deep breath, not able to get enough.

He frowns as his head starts to spin and his eyelids begin to droop. What the hell is this? He is a demon, so why is this affecting him? His knees slam into the ground as gravity takes advantage of his weakness. Alois falls to his side and coughs up blood. His vision blurs and slowly fade to blackness.

* * *

The smell of copper is the first thing to register upon waking. Alois groans and rolls onto his back, expecting pain but feeling none. He opens his eyes and sees the sidewalk much closer to his face than it should be. It looks as if someone has painted it with a dark reddish-brown colour.

This sight causes Alois to immediately think of his tattered hospital gown and a familiar smell. Lavender. He inhales deeply, trying to catch even the tiniest whiff of that wonderful scent. Alois sits up with ease and looks around. He starts when the darkness of night is revealed and he can _see_. There is this soft sort of glow that shows everything in a stunningly sharp contrast, but there is definitely no light source.

"Another demon add-on, then?" he says to no one in particular.

Alois listens to the sounds of crickets chirping. Despite the frightening front of this new time period, Alois finds comfort in something so small as a cricket. The Nothing is worse than anything this place could throw at him. Of this, he is certain. While this time may be cold and dark, it is still _something_.

With these thoughts, he stands and stumbles forward. He misses the manor and his soft bed. He misses the gardens and the delicious food. Most of all, he misses that damned spider demon. Had he died? Or, is he somehow back and still unable to have Ciel Phantomhive's soul? Ciel... Ciel is most certainly alive. Unless some other demon had some vendetta against him and decided to kill the blue-eyed boy, then Ciel could very well be alive somewhere.

Granted, he could currently be in Hell. But, he could also be _here_, a little voice in the back of his head whispers. Yes, he could. What are the chances of that, though? One in a hundred- no, one in a _million_... And yet, _Alois_ is here. By all accounts, this should be even more impossible, but here he stands. The blond smirks and starts walking along the sidewalk with no clear idea of where he is going, only one thing on his mind.

* * *

When he had finally emerged from his thoughts, he had sensed it; another demon. It was new, unknown, and slightly weakened. There had be something so familiar about it, but Claude could not put his finger on exactly what that was. The things had stopped about a mile away. The only reason for this that Claude could come up with was the the other had finally sensed him. If the slight drop in his aura meant what he thought it did, the demon had let Claude's scent overpower him.

Claude had cringed, remembering his own first-hand experience with the blackout. He could easily have killed such a weak being, but something inside had told him to leave it. And so, he had. Claude took an even longer route around to get back to the apartment. The manager had fallen asleep, so he had gone straight up to his room without a second thought.

Demons do not need to sleep, but it is a pleasant experience when they do. Claude lays in his bed, still and silent except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. As much as he wants to sleep, the demon will no be surprised in the least if he never goes under. He snorts. Who _can_ fall asleep when the thought of another demon is plaguing your mind?

* * *

**Author's Note: I actually had this chapter finished since the middle of February, but then I had no motivation to type it and ended up losing the notebook. I just found it and decided I should type it up, even though I don't have any readers. In other words, reviews, favorites, and even follows serve as great motivation. If anyone is really interested, even one comment will make the difference between me trashing this or continuing it. I am not fishing for comments, just letting you know that no feedback=slower/no more additional chapters.**

**EDIT: I will not be continuing this due to a busy schedule and a lack of feedback. I just have a lot to do, and since no one is really commenting or anything, it makes it easier to drop this. I need more time. I know I haven't updated this, and I admit to not having written anymore, but I figure it's best to put this up just so you guys know what's going on. Sorry! I might get back to this eventually, but I sort of doubt it.**


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